"The bathroom," Helga said, inclining her head. "Wash your private parts, especially. Derek likes his women clean. But you are to hurry. Three minutes, no longer. Move!"
Left alone for a moment, Connie thought about Monica's remarks. Her observations on Connie's and Paul's relationship led Connie to think about where they would end up. Already, she felt her anger and hurt fading, but she was still shaken. She was anxious about the new boat, too, thinking that she'd been too quick to make that move. She knew that she'd been looking for an excuse to buy the Herreshoff 59; it was a sister ship to Vengeance, and she'd fallen hard for the classic beauty of the design. Now that she had some sea miles under Diamantista's keel, she had a greater appreciation for the sea-kindliness of Vengeance's more traditional hull shape.
She would have bought the Herreshoff to begin with, except for the passenger accommodations. Although Diamantista and the Herreshoff were nominally the same size, Diamantista had more living space below deck. The Herreshoff had only two double staterooms, while the more modern Diamantista had two staterooms with double berths and two smaller cabins, each with two single berths. Before she and Paul had become a couple, she had intended for one of the smaller cabins to be used for her chef and first mate. The Herreshoff could sleep four people in the two staterooms, but any more people would have to sleep in pipe berths in the main cabin, which didn't afford them much privacy.
If she and Paul survived as a couple, the Herreshoff's accommodations would be satisfactory, but if she had to hire someone to take his place, she'd be back to where she was when she decided to buy Diamantista. There was the further complication that they were buying the Herreshoff jointly, but that was a minor problem. She could well afford to buy out Paul's interest if they split up.
Thinking through all of this refreshed the almost physical pain that she felt at the prospect of losing Paul. She willed herself to think about Julia and how awful her recent experiences had been. It helped to put her own situation in perspective. While her childhood had been far from ideal, she'd never had to deal with anything like what Julia had been through. Although her adolescence had been spent learning to fend for herself, that was a result of her own choices. She tried to remind herself that having a man in her life was a luxury, not a necessity. Then Paul appeared in the companionway with two steaming cups of coffee. As she took one of them, her resolve to be strong melted as quickly as the unrefined cane sugar that she knew he had stirred into her cup.
6
"We need to find us another woman, Troy-boy. Runnin' low on cash."
"Damn, Linton, you gotta quit puttin' that shit up your nose, man. We ain't ever gonna scrape together that hundred grand, you keep snortin' like this."
"You like the ganja; I like the blow. We've got enough for a little while, and some groceries, too. Next score, we should be able to put most of it in the kitty."
"We better. We keep snatchin' women, we're gonna get caught. He said the last two guys were about to get caught; that's why they had to kill them. They knew too much, just like us."
"Relax, kid," Linton Goff said. "They were takin' local women; it's too easy for somebody to miss them. Even whores got people that'll miss them in places like this."
"What about the guy before? Wilson — wasn't that his name?"
"Yeah. He's the one Joe knew. Dumb bastard. He tried to squeeze these people." Linton shook his head.
"Who's Joe?"
"Joe Smith. My cellmate up at Raiford before he got out and you came along."
"He's the guy that hooked you up with these people, then?" Troy asked.
"Yeah. That's right."
"So what happened to him?"
"Joe?" Linton asked, surprised.
"No. Wilson," Troy said.
"Disappeared," Linton said with a shrug.
"So who the hell are these people?"
"Don't know. Don't want to know," Linton said. "Unhealthy to ask too many questions."
"Those guys said they were foreign."
"What guys?" Linton asked, raising his eyebrow.
"The ones we gave the broad to on that little fishin' boat the other night."
"You dumb sucker. Those guys are from St. Vincent. Everybody's foreign to them."
"No, man. They said these fuckers had an accent, like. Not American."
"Troy, you're worried about the wrong things, man. It ain't gettin' caught you need to worry 'bout. You keep talkin' shit to people like those guys, we're gonna end up like Wilson and the other two — disappeared."
"I like to know who I'm working for."
"Not this time."
"Did Joe know?"
"If he did, he was smart enough to keep it to himself. You keep up this shit, I'm gonna kill you myself." Linton stood up and squared off.
Troy raised his hands in a defensive posture. "Okay, okay. Sorry, asshole. Don't go gettin' so worked up. I'm just curious."
"Be curious about catchin' us another broad, then," Linton said, sitting down again.
"I don't think this is the right kind of place," Troy said. They were at anchor in Bequia, a small island off the south end of St. Vincent, which was a popular stop for yachts and people on dive excursions.
"Yeah, you're right about that," Linton said, relaxing a bit. "Too much goin' on, and not enough people."
"So where we gonna go?" Troy asked.
"Go get that cruising guide to the Windward Islands and let's pick a spot with a beach resort that ain't got much of a local population," Linton said. "I heard the Grenadines is full of places like that."
Diamantista ghosted along on the fading breeze, leaving Sister Rocks a few hundred yards off her starboard beam. Julia was at the helm, chewing her lower lip as she worried about steering the boat through the narrow opening ahead. "You should take it," she said, not daring to glance at Connie for fear that she would let the boat wander from her course.
Connie put her hand on Julia's shoulder. "You're doing fine. I'm right here, but you'll be okay. Just go right through the middle of the gap between Mabouya Island and Point Cistern, like I showed you on the chart."
"But it looks so narrow. On the chart, they looked farther apart."
"Almost half a mile," Connie said. "It's just the perspective, after several hours out in open water. There's plenty of room, and the water's deep right up to the shore on both sides. That's Sandy Island peeking out from behind Mabouya. As we get closer, you'll see them begin to separate. Remember what I said about the wind off the point?"
"It's going to gust up and clock as we draw even with the point," Julia said.
"Right. That's called 'cape effect.' It's common when you round a point on the corner of a landmass. What's going to happen to Diamantista when we get there?"
"She'll want to follow the wind around to the starboard; I'll feel the weather helm increase."
"Perfect. And then what?"
"I can let her come around, as long as I keep her running parallel to the shoreline as it falls away."
"Good. And ... "
"As you ease the sheets, I'll bring her back on course for Sandy Island."
"You've got it. Nothing to worry about," Connie said, watching with a smile as they passed Point Cistern and Julia let the boat come around with the stiffening breeze. Connie un-cleated the mainsheet and eased the mainsail, reducing the weather helm as Julia brought the boat back on course. "You on course?" she asked.
"On course," Julia confirmed.
Connie knelt by the big primary winch on the port side of the cockpit and jerked the jib sheet free of the jam cleat, allowing it to run out until the jib was drawing again. "Well done, Julia."
"Indeed," Paul said, coming up the companionway ladder to join them in the cockpit. "Looks like we have our choice of moorings."
"Yes," Connie agreed. "I'm surprised there's nobody here."
"How do we stop?" Julia asked, anxiety in her tone.
"Since there's plenty of room, let's pick up a mooring under sail," Connie said. "We'll want to steer like we're g
oing to leave the mooring ball on our starboard side, maybe 50 yards away."
"So I aim at the island?" Julia asked. "It looks so close."
"As soon as the mooring is dead upwind, you turn sharply into the wind. Aim straight for the ball. The sails will flutter like crazy, but just ignore that. I'll take in the jib while Paul goes forward with the boat hook to snag the mooring pennant. The boat will be coasting into the wind. You just steer straight for the mooring until the bow blocks your line of sight, then watch Paul. He'll be pointing with the boat hook; you go where he points. We'll slow way down from the wind on the bow, and he'll pick up the mooring and cleat it off to stop us. Got it?"
Julia nodded. "Time to turn?"
"You got it," Connie said.
A few minutes later, the sails were stowed and everyone sat in the cockpit admiring their surroundings.
"Hey, Connie?" Julia asked.
"Mm?"
"What if there had been boats on the other moorings? We wouldn't have had much room for all that maneuvering."
"You're right. We'd have dropped the sails back by Point Cistern and used the diesel to come in and pick up the mooring."
"Oh, my God, Heather! This is so beautiful. I can't believe we're here; it's like a dream of some kind." Stephanie Hill was stretched out on a beach blanket on her left side, propped up on her left elbow, her head resting in her hand. She was gazing across her sister's back, looking at the handful of sailboats that were anchored in Saltwhistle Bay.
"It's glorious," her sister agreed. "We needed this, you know?"
"Yes. I don't think Mom would begrudge our spending part of what she left us this way; she was always dreaming of seeing the islands again with Dad when he retired."
"Don't, Steph. You're making me sad. I miss them."
"Me, too. You're right though; they'd want us to enjoy this."
"Just think about how hot it is in Texas right now," Heather said. "You can't even go outside there. Everybody thought we were nuts to come to the tropics."
"I know. It's hard to believe that it's not roasting here."
"Just try forgetting the sunblock; you'll see roasting then, for sure," Stephanie said.
"Wonder what it would be like to stay here in the resort?"
"Yeah. It looks pretty nice," Stephanie said. "It's kind of funky, though. Not even telephones in the rooms, for $400 a night."
"I'm happy enough with the guest house we're in; we even get air conditioning, and for a lot less money."
"Think we could rent one of those sailboats?" Stephanie asked.
"Maybe. I think the people that run the guest house may have one."
"Yeah, they do. I looked at the brochure. It's pretty big, though. They sail it from island to island; you can stay on it for days, apparently," Stephanie said. "I'd just like to get out on one of those right out there, so we could look back at the beach. Kind of see how things look to the other half, you know?"
"Mm-hmm. Look," Heather said. "That guy just dove in from that one; he's swimming right to the beach. That's so cool!"
Stephanie sat up, watching as the man knifed through the turquoise water. Her interest was piqued when he reached the knee-deep water along the beach and got to his feet. "Wow," she said. "You're missing it, Heather. Can you see him?"
Heather rolled over, reaching back to fasten her top as she sat up. "My, my," she said, as she spotted the object of her sister's comment. "He's something, all right. Look at those abs!"
"And the tan, and the sun-bleached hair," Stephanie said. "I think I'm in love."
"It's lust, sis, but who cares?" Heather asked, getting to her feet and turning her back to him.
"What are you doing?" Stephanie asked.
"Just need to straighten my blanket," Heather said, winking at her sister. She bent from the waist, her legs straight, feet shoulder-width apart.
"That got his attention," Stephanie said. "He's homing in on your rear end."
"Oh, gee," Heather giggled. "I didn't think about that." She fiddled with the blanket and then knelt, resuming a prone position. She reached back to unhook her top again.
"Excuse me, ladies," Troy said, as he paused within a pace of Stephanie, who fought to keep her composure.
"H-hi," she said, noticing that Heather just squirmed a little, adjusting the bottom of her skimpy bikini.
"I, um," he paused, distracted by what Heather was doing, then returned his gaze to Stephanie. "I wondered if any of these little stands along here sell cold drinks."
"Yes, they do. All of them do," Stephanie said, smiling. She watched as he pulled a small waterproof pouch from inside the waistband of his swim trunks. She tore her eyes away from the way the wet fabric molded itself to him and looked up to see his friendly smile. She blushed as she realized he'd caught her staring at his crotch.
"Can I get something for you and your friend?" he asked.
"That would be lovely," Stephanie said.
"Beer?" he asked.
"That's great," Stephanie said.
Heather rolled over, fumbling with her top as she sat up, giving him a bit of a show. "Me, too, please," she said.
"He's mine, you hussy," Stephanie hissed, once he was out of earshot.
"I saw him first," Heather said. "But I don't mind sharing — not with my big sister."
He returned with three beers, the bottles dripping with moisture. "I'm Troy," he said, handing them each a bottle. "Troy Stevens, from North Carolina."
"Thanks, Troy. I'm Heather Hill, and this is my sister, Stephanie. We're from Houston."
"Wow. Should have known the prettiest girls on the beach would be sisters. Nice to meet you. Mind if I steal a corner of your blanket?"
"Make yourself at home," Stephanie said, shifting slightly to give him room.
"You staying here at the resort?" he asked.
"No. We're at a guest house," Heather said. "Did I just see you jump off one of the boats out there?"
"Yes. Sueño, she's called."
"Nice," Stephanie said. "Sueño means dream, right?"
"Yes."
"So, is the boat your dream?" Heather asked.
"My uncle's," he said. "He lives on her. I just visit when I'm between jobs."
"What sort of jobs?" Stephanie asked.
"Oh, I'm an actor, or try to be. I do all sorts of things to make ends meet, though."
"We were just wondering what it was like out on one of those boats," Heather said.
"Well, let's finish the beers and you can find out."
"Really?" Heather asked, her excitement evident in the rising pitch of her voice.
"Sure," Troy said, smiling at her. "Anybody you need to check out with? Parents? Boyfriends?"
"Nobody," Stephanie said.
"It's okay if there's somebody else; they can come, too. There's plenty of room aboard."
"No. It's really just the two of us; we're kind of all alone in the world," Heather said.
"Our mother just died," Stephanie explained. "We've been taking care of her since Dad passed away last year. That kept us too busy to date, so we're both unattached."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Troy said, looking appropriately somber.
"Thanks. Do we swim out there? What about — "
"No," Troy said, chuckling. "Let me go get the dinghy and bring it in while you gather up your things. I'll pick you up at that little pier right over there."
Connie sat in the shade of the cockpit awning enjoying the late afternoon breeze and sipping from a glass of ice-cold fruit punch. Paul had taken the guests ashore; the dinghy was pulled up on the beach a few hundred feet away. Over the low dunes of tiny Sandy Island, she could see Monica and Luke walking the strip of beach on the other side of the narrow isthmus. Paul and Julia were snorkeling the reefs, out of her line of sight, but she could see Monica pointing at them as she and Luke watched. Connie was enjoying this charter, she realized. This was the way she had dreamed that it would be. She still had a deep-seated sense of dread stemming from the pr
esence of the thong in Paul's drawer, but it wasn't as overwhelming as it had been.
Julia's enthusiasm for learning to sail reminded her of her own excitement when she first discovered the joy of working in harmony with the wind and the sea. It was hard for her to remember that it had only been a few months ago that she had taken delivery of Diamantista. Her gaze still on Monica and Luke, she saw Paul and Julia join them on the beach. The four people chatted easily for a few minutes, Julia gesturing toward the reef she and Paul had been exploring. They suddenly appeared much taller as they came over the dunes and approached the dinghy. Paul and Luke each grasped a side of the RIB and skidded it backward into the water. When it was afloat, Paul stood in the knee-deep water holding it while Luke helped Monica and Julia aboard.
Connie watched as Paul persuaded Julia to take a seat on the starboard tube close to the stern — the helmsman's seat, normally. She smiled, imagining the conversation as Paul talked Julia through the process of starting the outboard. It fired with a puff of blue-black smoke, and Paul and Luke hopped into the dinghy. At a nod from Paul, Julia twisted the grip on the outboard's tiller and the RIB began moving backward, away from the beach. Paul nodded again, and the dinghy began moving forward in a big arc, finally coming straight for Diamantista.
As the dinghy picked up a little speed, Connie smiled, watching it swerve back and forth as Julia over-steered. She watched as Paul coached her, his patience evident as he gestured to show that the boat would go in the opposite direction from the way Julia pushed the tiller. By the time Julia got the feel of steering with the tiller, the dinghy bumped alongside Diamantista. The girl switched off the engine as Paul stood and grabbed the big boat's toe rail.
"So, how was it?" Connie asked, as the four climbed aboard.
"We saw reef squid, and parrot fish, and an octopus," Julia squealed, sounding much younger than she looked. "Paul grabbed at the squid and it squirted him with ink!"
Connie had to laugh at the girl's unbridled joy.
"It's a beautiful spot," Monica said.
"It sure is," Luke agreed. "I can't believe there are no other boats."
Sailor's Delight - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 2nd Novel of the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers) Page 5